


Mama We All Go To Hell

by lucifersmistress



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Artist Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen), Connor Murphy Lives (Dear Evan Hansen), Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Everyone is angry, F/F, Jared Kleinman Being an Asshole, Larry Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen) Is a Bad Parent, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Soft Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen), dark themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:46:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25004104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifersmistress/pseuds/lucifersmistress
Summary: The life of Connor Murphy, and all the people who join it for better or for worse.
Relationships: Connor Murphy & Cynthia Murphy, Cynthia Murphy/Larry Murphy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	1. Connor

**Author's Note:**

> -I see myself in Connor Murphy so maybe this is a little bit like a twisted autobiography (if only I remembered my childhood).  
> -I always thought Cynthia Murphy absolutely loved her son to pieces, so I wanted to capture that from her giving birth to watching him fall apart.  
> -Larry Murphy is an asshole but mostly because I had no decent father figure and am severely projecting onto these characters, make of that what you will.

Cynthia stared at the baby on her chest knowing that without a doubt she would never let harm befall this bundle of joy. Never before had she understand the all-consuming love mothers had for their children depicted on television and in books. She had loved before, but nothing as fierce as this. Nothing could compare to the warmth spreading inside her as she heard her baby’s cries, saw his eyes (the most beautiful blue eyes).

Even Larry, who had been indifferent throughout most of her pregnancy reached his hand out and stroked the baby’s head with the concentration of a first-time father, desperate not to cause harm to his child. Adoration flooded his features as he let a smile break through his usually nondescript features, and Cynthia though that he ought to smile more – it was a lovely look on him.

They still hadn’t decided on a name, but suddenly it was clear – the weeks of searching on baby naming sites a waste. ‘’Connor, after your grandfather.’’

Smiling wider, Cynthia let her eyes leave her baby boys head as she looked at her fiancé, exhaustion and sweat emphasised by the unappealing fluorescent lights. ‘’Connor.’’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -It's short, I'm sorry. Chapters will be much longer after this. 
> 
> :)


	2. Spiders and Beans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing would make him leave, even a lovely old lady who was now offering to show him around. Even if he really wanted to take the milk carton she was offering, he would not. Even when his mum put his hand in the ladies – it was so soft, and she smelt like cookies. Even when his mum walked away and waved and shut the door and-
> 
> Oh dear. Now he was stuck here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Disclaimer I know fuck all about children or the American Education System.  
> -In this chapter Connor will be three and four years old.

‘’Come on honey we’re going to be- ‘’

Cynthia was stopped mid-sentence as two small children came barrelling into her, wrapping their arms tightly around each leg. One holding so tight she feared he would pull her down, and the other leaving tear and snot all over her left thigh in a classic two-year-old tantrum. Soon the yelling would begin; Cynthia could only hope it was not during the car ride. 

She could only thank God that Larry had left earlier for a meeting. If he had seen this, he would have called this a ‘little display for attention’ and that they need to stamp this out of them before they grow into attention-seeking teenagers. At first Cynthia had argued back – they are children, it’s natural – but the arguments were exhausting. It was one thing having two crying toddlers, it was another thing having two crying toddlers because Mummy and Daddy were shouting again. Cynthia swore she would never raise her children in that environment, so she resigned to simply not arguing with her husband. 

Rather than punish her children for crying, Cynthia pulled her daughter (Zoe a strong-willed two-year-old with the attention span of a goldfish) onto her hip and attempted to pry her son of her knee. Connor still kept a hand gripped into her jeans, so tight his little knuckles were going white. She knew the first day at preschool would be difficult, but she never could have predicted such a passionate reaction from both of them. With a scrunched up, red face, covered in tears, little Zoe Murphy declared her big brother would not be leaving for the day. Finished with a flourish and a gripped fist held in front of her Cynthia couldn’t help but stare at her in awe. 

It seemed Connor was equally in awe, nodding and pointing at his sister, looking about ready to burst into applause. The tears had miraculously disappeared, replaced by a bright smile as he was sure her speech had earnt him another day free from the terror that was school. 

Much to the surprise of both Zoe and Connor, within five minutes they found themselves strapped into a car and on their way to Connor’s new preschool regardless of Zoe’s inspirational, soul-lifting speech. It had everything a preschool would need: copious amounts of Play-Doh; too many overexcited toddlers running amuck; and overbearing teachers that would appear odd in any other environment. 

To be honest, Cynthia had no idea why they were sending Conner to a preschool in the first place – rather than just waiting for first grade. However, Larry had insisted, claiming he wanted to free up his wife’s time, give her a break from the kids. How could she argue with that?

But stood here, in the middle of what Cynthia could only hope wasn’t a breeding ground for every type of disease, she had half a mind to grab Connor and walk out. The way he hid his face in her cardigan and gripped her hand like his life depended on it broke her heart. Even when an old lady with dyed red hair who reminded Cynthia painfully of her grandmother knelt down besides Connor, he didn’t relinquish his grip on his mother.

Nothing would make him leave, even a lovely old lady who was now offering to show him around. Even if he really wanted to take the milk carton she was offering, he would not. Even when his mum put his hand in the ladies – it was so soft, and she smelt like cookies. Even when his mum walked away and waved and shut the door and-

Oh dear. Now he was stuck here. Conner drank the milk woefully, if three-year olds were even capable of being woeful. However, being a three-year-old, and quite an energetic one at that, his attention was quickly swept from his self-pity to the group of children ooo-ing and ahh-ing at the back of the classroom. Tanks upon tanks were stacked at the back of the bright room, their thermal bulbs creating an ethereal red glow over the faces of the many toddlers gathered around the back. Inside were creepy-crawlies and slithery beasts that Connor had become accustomed to in scary stories. A creature with hairy legs and a horrible throbbing body crawled around in one tank. Connor found himself captivated, inching closer and closer, pushing other kids out of the way till his nose was pressed against the glass. 

A cricket bounded in front of Connors face, ready to bounce all the way to the other side of the tank when – wham! Without any warning, not even a twitch of one of its many furry legs, the spider surged forward, causing Connor to go careening backwards with a horrible bang as his head hit the linoleum tiles. 

For a moment he lay there – perfectly still, perfectly silent. Then it hit him. Mummy had left, and he was all alone, and his head was throbbing, and his eyes were beginning to well up. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. One of the nice ladies reached forward and asked him to touch where it hurt. But still Connor didn’t cry. Even after crying this morning he knew not to cry here. Because Daddy would be disappointed, the thought itself made Connor want to cry even more. The thought of disappointing his father rocked his three-year-old world, because if daddy was disappointed with him then that was bad. 

The same old lady that greeted him when he arrived pulled him onto a counter to check his head – and after a satisfied noise she leant down until her face was directly in front of his. Connor tried not to move away or grimace because that was rude. ‘‘I want Mum.’’

‘‘Sorry, honey but your mummy can’t come yet.’’

That wasn’t the response he wanted. So, he stuck his bottom lip out, and stuck his chin up. That worked whenever he didn’t want to eat his greens so it must, must, must work now. The lady laughed, shook her head, and ushered Connor over to the other kids. But he didn’t want the other kids he wanted his mum, and he was going to make sure this woman knew it wasn’t a joke. 

Tugging on her cardigan so hard it fell off one shoulder he made sure his eyes met hers as he once asked again for his mum, trying again to not let the tears welling up fall. ‘’Please.’’ Eventually his nagging became too much even for the most unbreakable of preschool teachers, and soon his mother was being called and her station wagon was pulling up in the parking lot with Zoe bouncing up and down in her booster seat. As soon as she opened the door Connor ran towards her in a similar fashion to that of this morning.  
Still he didn’t cry. Not even when his mum brushed the back of his head, in what was meant to be a comforting gesture, but only caused him to yelp as she irritated the sore skin. Not when Zoe made it her personal goal to touch the sore spot as many times as possible. Not when Zoe started crying because he had hit her after the tenth time of trying to poke his head. 

After a long, very stressful day having to socialise with other children, and swearing his revenge on all spiders, Connor was grateful to be at home and lying on the couch, all until his dad had come home. At the arrival of his father – signalled by the customary slamming of the door, Connor leapt to his feet and ran to his dad in spite of the headache.  
His dad smelt of outside, and horrible aftershave that made Connor wiggle his nose uncomfortably and he loved it. Quickly grabbing a hold of Larry’s slacks so he couldn’t escape the conversation Connor began to talk rapidly about his day. Making a point to hit his head with his hand so hard it hurt to show off where he hurt himself. Then, placing himself in front of Larry and doing his best to look him square in the eyes (very difficult considering the fact that he was 3 feet shorter than his father) he raised his chin and told him the most exciting part of the day. He didn’t cry! 

‘’Oh that’s…great, Connor. Great.’’ He did try to muster something similar to a smile, but it just ended up looking rather unsightly. A smile was unnatural and unwanted on Larry Murphy’s face. 

Sidestepping his son, Larry made his way to the kitchen, standing before Cynthia the same way Connor had just stood in front of him. ‘’We talked about this Cynth, seriously.’’  
‘’Not in front of the children, Larry, please,’’ Cynthia eyed Connor, trying and failing to blend into the doorframe. 

‘’Put them to bed then.’’

Ten minutes later Connor had Zoe were tucked in, without the usual story, and Cynthia armed herself with a glass of wine as Larry sat opposite her in the lounge, ready for her husband’s complaints. ‘’No more pandering to his needs whenever he comes crying to you Cynth okay, it’s for his own good. Okay?’’

‘’Okay.’’  
===  
Months went by with no more similar instances; Connor had even made some friends and had managed to get by without staining a single piece of clothing whilst there. Some students were busy eating Play-Doh and smearing paint and other unidentifiable substances over the clothes, and Cynthia was grateful for her son not being so messy. Grass stains that usually coated the jeans of every child after preschool, were a rare occurrence with Connor. 

Language lessons had even began, and he was more coherent than ever – which was troublesome whenever he threw a tantrum but amazing when he began to rant about everything from chips to the news. Not that he knew what was going on, he would simply string a few words he heard and recognised together and hope for the best. Cynthia had never known such a talkative child. Even Zoe who could hold a conversation by making indiscernible noises was less talkative. 

Connor was on one of his rants again at preschool – telling a kid who looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else – all about spiders and what he called his Not Nice Spider Moment. When, one of the other kids told him to ‘shut up.’ If Connor had the sense to be offended, he would had gasped in shock, but as far as he was concerned what he was saying was of utmost importance, even if one idiot wanted to ruin his fun. Resuming his speech, Connor had the audacity to be shocked the second time the kid told him to shut up and even placed a finger against Connor’s mouth. 

The shock quickly dissipated as he licked the kids’ finger and fell into a fit of giggles. To any logical adult this reaction would have been unbelievably immature, but to Connor it was the most rational thing to do. I mean, what could he actually do? Shut up? No.

Which is why it came as quite a shock when the kid punched him. Quite hard, directly across the face. Blood dripped onto his Batman shirt and Connor suddenly lost the energy to carry on talking about spiders. After all, if that was the reaction it simply wasn’t worth it. 

Larry asked what happened at home, seemingly actually concerned. When told it was because Connor licked a boy’s finger Larry looked about ready to explode. His fist connected with his thigh, his eyes narrowed to slits and he began to breath very slowly through his nose. His voice suddenly and eerily calm he said, ‘’You what?’’

Casting his eyes down, no longer proud of his reaction, he muttered it again. 

‘’Speak up, Connor.’’

Tears began to build up in his eyes and Connor cursed whoever decided crying was a thing because it was stupid. Dad could not see him crying. ‘’Licked his finger.’’

‘’Why?’’ Exasperation broke Larry’s calm façade, making Connors eyes burn more. Of course, he was so, so wrong to be proud of this. ‘’He told me to shut up and put his finger against my mouth.’’ His speech began to blubber as the tears forced themselves out and Connor saw his dad’s shiny shoes blur. 

‘’Go to bed, Connor.’’ 

But it wasn’t bedtime. Zoe was awake. Connor began to mutter uncontrollably until his father said ‘now’ in a voice that was so unlike his fathers that Connor would rather lay in bed for hours than look at his dad. Connor wasn’t sure how long he had been upstairs – but it was long enough for his mum to come up with a plate of fish fingers and beans.  
Normally he would shovel beans in his mouth like he would never see them again but looking at the plate made Connor nauseous. Before he could complain about not wanting to eat, Cynthia had materialised two forks – holding up one for her son and using another to cut the fish fingers into bitesize pieces. Ruffling his hair and eating a piece of his fish fingers was enough to make Connor pierce some beans – one on each point of the fork. 

‘’Your hairs getting so long kiddo.’’ He shook his hair out of his face, it was just covering his forehead. Spooning some more beans into his mouth so his mum couldn’t eat them Connor hummed in response. 

‘’Your dad just wants the best for you,’’ Cynthia said this around a piece of fish finger - something she never believed she would willingly eat as an adult till she had two children. Connor hummed again, eating beans was preferable to talking about what just happened. Nevertheless, Cynthia persisted. ‘’How’s your nose?’’

‘’Hurts.’’

‘’How much honey?’’

Connor stretched his arms as far as possible, flinging two beans across the room and nearly falling off his bed. Smiling with a strange melancholy Cynthia kissed her son on the nose, giving him a boop and wished him goodnight, walking away to finish washing up.

Connor fell asleep with a smile on his face, touching where his mum booped his nose with a giggle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -So I may not know a lot about kids but I've been using this AMAZING website www.verywellfamily.com and their information on child development and signs to be concerned has been very helpful so I've thrown in a sign or two.  
> :)


	3. Spiders Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor didn’t like this look on his dad. This look made the room swim, all the dark corners becoming more pronounced as if the day had suddenly become overcast. Whenever his dad had that look, even if it wasn’t aimed at him, Connor made sure to shrink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm awfully sorry this chapter is so short.

Preschool went by quicker than expected. In the blink of an eye Zoe was joining, rapid to make friends and impress teachers. Despite having such a successful sister, Connor was beginning to have the opposite effect. His final year was dragging on and rather than enjoy it, Connor elected to cause as much trouble as he could. Releasing the spiders perhaps wasn’t his best decision though. 

Not only did one use it as an opportunity to run up his arm as he released it (an awful way to reward him for freedom he thought) but another was crushed in a stampede of frightened kids and adults alike. He would call it a failure if it weren’t for the wonderful kerfuffle as tables were upturned and some people made to escape through windows. 

The only failure was getting caught, which Connor had no choice but to blame on the spiders themselves. If one didn’t make its home on top of his head, he would have gotten away with it. But now all thanks to a stupid spider his dad was shouting at him – Connor assumed it was the same stupid spider that scared him on the first day. Curse that spider. Shouting had become part and parcel in the Murphy household. His dad had that face, the exhausted one where his lips tightened until they were non-existent, a crease appeared between his eyebrows and he looked like he was in physical pain. Connor didn’t like this look on his dad. This look made the room swim, all the dark corners becoming more pronounced as if the day had suddenly become overcast. Whenever his dad had that look, even if it wasn’t aimed at him, Connor made sure to shrink, pulling his arms and legs up into a ball. He would cover his face with his hair if it was long enough. Thankfully his hair hadn’t been cut in a while, allowing him to sweep it over his eyes. 

This wasn’t the dad he liked. He liked the dad who smiled and took them to the pretty apple place, swung him onto his shoulder and crashed his toy planes. Connor refused to accept this man who made the world dark was his dad. Where was the smile? The joy? His dad.  
Larry was still shouting, and Connor was on the verge of tears. But he was not going to cry. Inching further into his Batman jumper Connor hoped his dad wouldn’t see the tears escaping his eyes. He hadn’t cried since the day he left for preschool, and he wasn’t going to break that streak now. He wasn’t! 

And, even if a tear did escape his eye (completely against his own will) it wouldn’t matter because as long as dad didn’t see it technically wouldn’t count as crying. ‘’Look at me when I’m talking to you Connor.’’ Connor wanted to look at his dad, get rid of that disappointed look and please him, get the smile back, but he couldn’t, not with a red face covered in tears. Defiantly he lowered his chin into his jumpers’ neck, daring to stamp one foot and mutter no.

‘’What did you say Connor?’’ Larry’s voice was scarily quiet, the shouting gone and replaced.

‘’No!’’ The tears were falling freely now as he was bold enough to look Larry in the eye, vision still obscured by tangled hair.  
‘’We’re going to cut your hair off and then you’re going to bed.’’ Larry walked off to get the hair clippers, not allowing Connor the chance to argue back. That however didn’t stop him. 

Looking at the clock didn’t help Connor in knowing what time it was, but he did know it was too early and he was not going to be going bed. He shouted such so even the neighbours knew that it was too early. 

When Larry returned with the clippers and a towel, he looked even more disappointed than before. Connor had stopped crying, but his face was still red and sticky; his hair sticking to the tears staining his cheeks. Connor didn’t cry this time when Larry sat him on a chair and started shaving his head. Not bald, even Larry knew better than that. But a horribly patchy military style haircut that looked out of place on a usually bubbly five-year-old. Such a harsh, badly done cut would look out of place even on the severest of people. 

Connor didn’t cry when his mum came home with shopping, gasping when she saw her sons lack of hair, desperately running her hands over his scalp and nearly weeping when she noticed the absence of care in Connors eyes, as if he hadn’t just been shaved. It was the nonchalance on his face that broke Cynthia, pressing a kiss to his forehead she ushered him towards his bedroom, where Zoe was sat playing ponies on his bed. The ponies were some of Connors stuffed lions, but at least she had the spirit. 

‘’Lawrence what the hell?’’ Cynthia attempted to keep her voice down, pointing in the direction where she left her son. ‘’I left you alone for twenty minutes.’’ The throbbing in her head had changed to a cruel pounding, and the argument wasn’t worth it if all she would receive was a headache and a remorseless look from her husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was emotionally draining to write, and I keep on forgetting what five year olds actually look and act like. I added Zoe playing with lions as ponies because it just felt so dark and dim and wrong? I swear five year olds aren't as articulate and self-conscious as i make them out to be though.


End file.
